Undercover Lovers
by wayward-angels
Summary: Someone is targeting high-end escorts involved with Navy officials, and Kensi is determined to find out who. But when she volunteers to put her own life on the line in a dangerous undercover operation, Deeks finds himself caught between professionalism and keeping her safe.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello, dear friends! This is my first fic after being away for quite a while. I hope you enjoy it! :) **_

Kensi Blye jerked awake at four-thirty a.m. to the sound of rain on the roof and someone pounding on the door. She was barely awake, but she fumbled for her Glock anyway, stumbling through the cramped apartment. She slipped on a pair of discarded pants on the way to the door, and cursed loudly as her big toe collided painfully with the edge of the coffee table. Her mood only soured further when a glance through the peephole revealed none other than Marty Deeks standing in the doorway, grinning ear-to-ear and holding a cup of coffee. She pulled the door open and scowled.

"This better be important, Deeks."

"_Wow_." Deeks pushed past her into the apartment, where he stood in the messy living area and dripped water all over the carpet. "Thanks for the warm welcome, partner." He cringed dramatically. "You know, I find your sunny disposition extremely heartening, especially this early in the morning."

Kensi snatched yesterday's flannel shirt off the back of the sofa and hurried into her bedroom to change.

"Have you _ever _cleaned this place up?" Deeks asked. Kensi could hear him rummaging around, probably hunting for embarrassing photos or other incriminating evidence that suggested a lifestyle of deviance. She emerged in time to slap his hand away from the framed photograph on the kitchen counter: a snapshot of herself and her father. In the picture, they stood in the cool pre-dawn desert, Kensi in his too-large Marines sweatshirt, her father in his old Carhartt. She was fourteen years old, a grinning teenager with long hair and wide eyes, unmarred by the cruelty of the world.

"No touching," she snapped. Deeks snatched his hand away, feigning offense. "Why the hell are you even here? This better be important."

Deeks took a long swig of coffee.

"Yeah, they pulled a Naval captain out of Santa Monica Bay at about one a.m this morning. Hetty called me about half an hour later."

Kensi pulled her NCIS windbreaker on over her flannel shirt and grabbed her cell phone.

"And we're being called out because...?"

Deeks shrugged and headed for the door.

"She said that something didn't add up. Wouldn't say anything else on the phone."

Kensi flattened her mouth into a grim smile as the two agents headed into the chilly morning.

"Good enough for me."

The body was stretched out at the end of the Santa Monica pier, surrounded by a group of cops and lifeguards. The coroner hadn't arrived, and the bleary-looking party huddled in the halo of light cast by one of the tall lamps lining the pier.

The woman must have been good-looking, and death had not erased her beauty. Long brown hair, alabaster skin, wide eyes. She wore dress blues and high heels, an unlikely combination.

"We were out on patrol when I saw something floating under the pier," a young lifeguard reported. "Thought it was a seal, but it wasn't."

He looked understandably shaken. Kensi gave him a reassuring smile.

"Thanks for calling us out. Did you find any ID on the body?"

The young guard shook his head.

"No. Nothing."

Deeks was poking around inside the woman's dress jacket. Eventually he fished out a crumpled receipt.

"It's for a restaurant a few blocks from here: the SeaHouse. She paid cash, didn't leave a tip." He gently smoothed the paper. "We'll check it out, see if anyone there remembers her."

The ME's van arrived a few minutes later, headlights cutting white through the misty morning. It was still dark, the sea churning dark beneath the pier.

"How in the hell did we get there before they did?" Kensi grumbled as the ME-a balding man in his late forties-climbed down from the van and strolled at an almost leisurely pace towards the corpse. While he went to work on the body, Kensi pulled out her cell phone and checked her texts. No new messages. Five-thirty, Sam and Callen were probably just getting up.

"It looks like someone hit her pretty good on the head," the ME reported. _Arvon _was stitched onto the front of his jacket. "I'll be able to tell later if she was dead when she hit the water."

Kensi crouched next to him.

"Can we get an ID on her? We're NCIS, we need to know if she's one of ours."

Dr. Arvon rummaged around for a moment in his box of supplies and took out a fingerprint reader. Kensi and Deeks waited silently while the machine scanned her prints.

"She's in the system," he reported. "But certainly not Navy."

Deeks sighed.

"What, then?"

"Arrest records," Arvon informed them. "For prostitution, drug possession."

Suddenly Deeks knelt and began working his fingers underneath the corpse's stiff white shirt.

"What the-" Kensi started, momentarily horrified, before he plucked out a Naval ID card featuring a heavy-set man with grey hair. _Commander Wilkes._

"So I'm guessing this isn't hers, then?"

**Please review, if you feel inclined! :) **


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hello, my dear readers! I'm simply ecstatic at the response that the first chapter has gotten. Thank you all so much for reviewing/reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

The SeaHouse was one of Santa Monica's best-known restaurants, boasting an elaborate menu with prices to match. It wasn't the kind of place that either Kensi or Deeks would ever had ventured during their off hours, Kensi because she was the kind of girl that preferred take-out and Deeks because his meager LAPD paycheck excluded him from such pricy dining venues.

"I still can't believe you groped a dead body," Kensi muttered as they pushed through the back entrance of SeaHouse at half past six. Deeks flushed.

"I already told you, I saw something weird in her bra. I was just getting it out."

Kensi chortled.

"I think I'm more concerned that you were checking out the dead girl's...assets."

Deeks grumbled something that she didn't quite hear as they headed for the steamy chatter of the kitchen.

"Hey!" A tall man in a white chef's coat stalked towards them, brandishing a spatula. "What the hell are you doing? This is private property!"

Kensi flashed her badge.

"I'm Agent Blye, NCIS. Who's in charge here?"

"I am," the lean man snapped back. "Jared Herome, I'm the head chef here."

"Great, we're gonna need to see any security cam footage from last night." Deeks answered, inhaling deeply. "_Wow_, is that brisket cooking? 'Cause it smells _fantast-"_

"Thank you, Detective Deeks," Kensi cut him off swiftly. "The surveillance footage?" She prompted Herome, who lead them into a cramped back room behind the kitchen. Huddled between mounds of paperwork and cookbooks was an ancient television and a VCR. When Herome turned it on, the screen dissolved into black-and-white static.

"When is this from, nineteen-eighty?" Deeks asked incredulously. "I think my _grandma _still has one of these things..."

Herome pursed his lips.

"We don't exactly have federal agents storming in here everyday, demanding surveillance footage. We've never even had a break-in. What's this all about, anyway?"

After several failed attempts to revive the television, Herome flipped it off.

"We'll have to do this the old fashioned way," Kensi sighed. She pulled out her phone and brought up a driver's license photo of Tracy. "Was this woman in here last night?"

Herome stared at the photo for a few moments, then shrugged.

"Dunno. We get a lot of customers, especially on Fridays."

"She may have been wearing a military uniform," Deeks prompted. Something flashed within Herome's eyes, and Kensi leaned closer to him. She knew the spark of recognition well.

"What?"

"There was a guy in here last night wearing some kind of blue jacket with badges and stuff on it. Fancy, like the ones in movies."

Kensi and Deeks exchanged glances.

"Dress uniform," she muttered. "Was he with anyone?"

Herome nodded, eyes flickering up towards the ceiling.

"Yeah. A really attractive woman. They seemed..._cozy_."

Kensi held up her phone. Tracy Lashawn's eyes, bright and full of life, stared back at Herome.

"Was it her?"

Herome shrugged and turned away, readjusting his white chef's cap.

"I don't know. Like I said, Friday's a busy night."

"Some help he was," Deeks scoffed. "'_We got a lot of customers on Fridays_'. Well one of them just happens to be dead, buddy."

The SUV's engine rumbled to life and Kensi pulled out onto Ocean Avenue. Palisades Park was filled with young, virile-looking people jogging, doing yoga, and walking dogs, and beyond the stretch of green grass the ocean glittered in the morning sunlight. On the drive back downtown, she and Deeks theorized about how Tracy had wound up dead, on the Santa Monica pier, wearing a uniform that didn't belong to her.

"Maybe she went out with the Commander, date turns sour, she ends up dead."

"Then why would she be wearing his uniform? That's like leaving a calling card."

"Who the hell knows. We'll be paying the Commander a visit later, clear some things up."

"Meet Commander George Wilkes." Eric tapped his remote control, bringing the commander's passport photo and Navy ID to the screen. "Graduated top of his class from the Academy, served several tours in the Gulf War. He's been married to Katrina Wilkes for thirty years, and has two grown children."

The team had assembled in the Tech room to learn more about their victim and hopefully uncover a link between her and Wilkes. So far, they both seemed to travel in vastly different spheres: Tracy Leshawn was a high-end escort employed by one of the city's most infamous madams, a 28-year-old who spent her evenings in nightclubs and five-star hotels; George Wilkes was an upstanding family man who had spent most of his life serving his country.

"He lives in Pacific Palisades," Nell informed the assembled agents. "Address on your phones."

Callen nodded at Deeks and Kensi.

"Go check it out. We'll head for the Coroner's office."

230 Toyopa Drive was a two-story colonial house, clean and white with an American flag fluttering from the porch. A sedan was parked in the driveway, with plates matching Wilkes' registration.

"Looks like the good Commander is home," Deeks said as they crossed the lawn. Kensi caught a glimpse of a woman's outline crossing behind the window.

"And his wife," she added.

Sure enough, an older woman with a silver bob answered the door when they rapped on it.

"Can I help you?"

Kensi flashed her badge.

"Agent Blye, NCIS. This is my partner, Detective Deeks."

Worry pooled in her eyes, and her grip on the doorframe grew white-knuckled.

"Is everything okay?"

Kensi stared past Wilkes' wife, into the house. Two glasses on the dining room table, her husband was probably home.

"We need to talk to your husband, ma'am," Deeks told her. Mrs. Wilkes nodded, opened the door wider.

"Of course. Is everything okay?"

_No, your husband has been sneaking around behind your back with an escort who was found dead this morning_, Kensi thought.

"We just need to ask him a few questions," she said.

"He's in the garage," Mrs. Wilkes told them, pointing around the side of the house. The agents thanked her and headed for the garage. Kensi could hear the whir of a mechanical tool, and she considered drawing her Glock. She'd been chased by more than her fair share of desperate criminals with chainsaws. However, George Wilkes was sanding down the saddle on an apparently hand-made rocking horse. He turned off the tool when he saw the two agents standing in the garage doorway, holding up their badges.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, brushing his hands off on his jeans. Kensi slid her badge back into her pocket.

"Tracy Leshawn is dead."

Nothing but confusion showed in his eyes. Kensi and Deeks exchanged subtle glances.

"Does she look familiar?" Deeks showed him Tracy's driver license photo. This time, Wilkes' reaction showed genuine horror.

"Oh my God, Tisha's _dead_?"

Kensi frowned.

"Tisha?"

Wilkes sank down onto the edge of a sawhorse.

"Yeah, Tisha. That's her name...at least, that's what she told me."

Deeks slid the phone back into his pocket.

"Her real name is Tracy Leshawn. And she was found dead this morning on the Santa Monica pier. Looks like someone clocked her real good on the head and shoved her into the bay."

Wilkes paled visibly.

"Oh God. We...we had dinner last night. At SeaHouse, that restaurant on Ocean Avenue."

"What time did you leave the restaurant?"

Wilkes shook his head, eyes turning distant as he tried to remember.

"I don't know...maybe eight o'clock?"

"And where did you go after that?" Deeks demanded.

"Home," Wilkes muttered. He looked up to meet the gaze of the two skeptical agents. "I was home all evening. You can ask my wife."

Kensi's phone buzzed. It was a text from Callen: _cause of death=bft. TOD=9:30 pm. _She nudged Deeks, showing him the message.

"We will, trust me. So how long had you been..._seeing_ Tracy?"

Wilkes shook his head.

"A few months. We met at a party in July."

Kensi pursed her lips.

"We'll be in contact, Commander," she assured him. As they turned to go, Deeks added,

"Nice horse. Who's it for?"

For a moment, Wilkes looked guilty and defeated.

"My granddaughter. Her birthday is next week."

"Well, Wilkes' story checks out," Deeks muttered as they pulled onto PCH. "His wife verified that he came home at 9."

Kensi stared out the window. The beach was mostly empty; although it was sunny, the November air was crisp and cold.

"Callen and Sam said they'd go talk to madam. Hillary Nill, ever heard of her?"

Deeks shook his head as they followed the curve of the coastline down towards the freeway.

"No. But this is LA, escorts are a dime a dozen."

They passed the pier. Crowds of tourists had already descended on the theme park, and fishermen lined the end of the pier. There was nothing to suggest that a corpse had been pulled from the water only hours earlier.

Kensi's mouth flattened into a thin line as she watched the ferris wheel slowly spin against the pale sky.

"Not like this."

_**Questions? Comments? Concerns? Leave 'em in the review box, my lovely people. **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hello, beautiful people! I'm procrastinating yet again, and I hope that you enjoy the fruits of my non-labor. :) Thanks so much for all the reviews...y'all rock! :) :) **_

"George Wilkes' wife verified that he was home by nine o'clock," Kensi told Callen and Sam. The team had gathered in the bullpen to share any information that they had uncovered. Apparently, it wasn't much.

"I don't like him for this," Kensi admitted. "He seemed genuinely upset when we told him that Tracy was dead."

Callen nodded, looking grim.

"We were able to talk with the woman who runs the escort company that Tracy worked for. The Diamond Club, it's a pretty well-known agency, apparently. Anyway, she said that Tracy had been acting 'strange' lately. She cut off all contact with Diamond Club four days ago."

"She was scared," Kensi guessed. "Maybe someone was threatening her. You know, one of the guys she was seeing with the escort service."

"We should go to Tracy's house," Deeks said. "See just how paranoid she was getting. And if it was for a reason."

Tracy lived in a modest apartment in Mid-Wilshire, on a quiet tree-lined street. There was little to suggest that she had felt paranoid in the days leading up to her murder, and the woman who lived below her had been under the impression that Tracy taught preschool in Santa Monica. Kensi and Deeks picked through her sparse living quarters, turning up very little. A few photographs of her with a young man, standing in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, were taped to the fridge. Other than that, the apartment was relatively impersonal. Her laptop computer, however, told a different story according to Eric.

"She sent an email to someone named Beatrice Hall a few days ago. _Saw another car outside my apartment today. They followed me when I went to 711. I'm getting scared_." Eric reported via Kensi's cell phone. "Then another one, sent the day she was murdered: _Someone knocked on my door this morning. I could see a man outside, and I think he had a gun. I'm scared, Bea. Gonna talk to G tonight." _

"G," Kensi mused. "George Wilkes. Maybe that's why they were at SeaHouse. Find out who this Beatrice Hall is. We should talk to her."

Kensi hung up and continued hunting through Tracy's bedroom.

"Hey Kens," Deeks said loudly. "Think you'd look good in these?"

He held up a set of lacy red undergarments. Kensi rolled her eyes.

"Stay classy, Deeks."

Aside from the fancy panties, it was a boring ten minutes until Eric called back, this time sounding breathless.

"Guys, we have a problem."

Deeks huddled closer to his partner.

"Yeah?"

"We found Beatrice Hall. She was an escort for Diamond Girls, like Tracy."

"_Was?"_ Kensi asked, although her stomach was already sinking. Eric sighed loudly through the phone.

"LAPD found her body in Topanga Canyon a few hours ago. Time of death was early this morning."

It was an easy drive into Topanga Canyon, where Kensi parked the SUV by the side of the road and she and Deeks scrambled down a few hundred feet of scrubby hillside into the bottom of the canyon. A young cop pointed them to where a corpse was sprawled half-out of the trickle of Topanga Creek.

"Hikers found her a few hours ago," the young uniform reported. He looked a little queasy, and Kensi was willing to bet that this was his first homicide. "The Coroner ID'd her as Beatrice Hall."

"Kens," Deeks called. He was kneeling beside Beatrice's soggy form. "Check this out."

Kensi knew what was coming almost before she reached the body-a Naval petty officer's shirt.

"Petty Officer Third Class Roy Jenkins. Not exactly a Commander, is he?"

The uniform edged over, boots squelching in the mud.

"Uh, the ME said the cause of death was a single bullet to the back of the head. Thought you might wanna know."

Deeks nodded, his face grim.

"Thanks, officer."

There wasn't much evidence at the crime scene-tire tracks said that a late-model Ford pickup had pulled up creekside and someone had dumped the body out. It was obvious that she had been killed elsewhere, unlike Tracy Leshawn.

With heavy hearts, Deeks and Kensi headed back to OSP. The investigation had been open for less than 24 hours, and the body count was rising. The likelihood that the culprit was a serial killer targeting escorts was growing-and Kensi had a suspicion that the killer could be involved with the Navy.

"Jenkins is the definition of ordinary. Graduated from the Academy with good marks, everyone seems to like him, but he's nothing special. I can't picture him being involved with anything that would make anyone want to threaten him." Eric's voice conveyed clear doubt-he'd seen killers before, and obviously he didn't think that Roy Jenkins was one of them. "Sam and Callen checked out his apartment, but nothing suggested any involvement with Tracy Leshawn or any other Diamond Girl. They have him the boatshed now."

"He didn't even run when they brought him in," Deeks muttered, resting his chin on his folded hands. "That doesn't exactly scream 'murderer' to you, does it?"

Kensi watched the interrogation unfold in the cramped 'interview room'. So far Jenkins had sworn up and down the Bible that he hadn't murdered anyone, provided what turned out to be a solid alibi for his whereabouts for the past forty-eight hours, and even teared up at the mention of Beatrice's name.

"I had strong feelings for her," he choked out. "I...I can't believe she's gone."

"Poor kid," Deeks said, shaking his head. "She probably saw him as just another client."

Kensi rolled her eyes, then shushed her partner. In the interrogation room, Jenkins was saying,

"We were supposed to go to the Navy Ball tomorrow right. I thought...I thought that maybe that was our shot at being...well, a normal couple."

Callen appeared behind Deeks and Kensi.

"Looks like we're going dancing."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hello, my dear friends. Please enjoy this short chapter that I churned out between my final exams. Don't forget to review!**_

"I feel like a Barbie," Kensi groaned. She was standing in front of the full-length mirror in the wardrobe department, examining her outfit with a critical eye. Short black dress, impossibly high heels, hair falling in waves down her shoulders, too much makeup to be entirely natural.

"Hey."

Deeks' voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin. He stood a few feet behind her, leaning casually against the doorframe. Suddenly, her palms felt sweaty.

"Hi. So, how do I look?" She expected a joking, snarky answer. Instead, Deeks gave her a tight smile.

"Not like a Barbie. You look...really pretty."

Kensi was a federal agent, capable of snapping a man's neck ten different ways, packing heat despite her skimpy outfit. She was tough, even formidable. So why did Deeks' compliment make her stomach flutter?

"Thanks," she muttered. Deeks started forwards, and there was something tense and almost afraid in his eyes.

"Look, Kensi...whoever is whacking these girls, he's dangerous."

Kensi folded her arms.

"What makes you so sure it's a 'he'?"

Deeks sighed.

"That's not my point."

"Then what is?"

Deeks bit his lower lip for a half-second, as if weighing his words.

"I don't want you to get hurt."

Kensi almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the statement. She was a federal agent, armed to the teeth and wired like a mob den. She'd proven on more than one occasion that NCIS didn't just keep her around for her looks.

"Are you serious?"

The darkness in his usually bright eyes verified that yes, he was. Deeks moved forwards, as if to take her by the arm, then stopped.

"If anything happens to you..."

Callen's sudden arrival cut his sentence short.

"You ready, Kens?"

She mustered a smile and saunterd past Deeks as best she could on those ridiculous shoes.

"I was _born _ready."

But it sounded like something that Deeks might say and she reached out a hand as she passed, just barely brushing against his fingers. It was a silent reassurance, but it would have to do.

Callen looked good in a uniform, and girls in sparkly dresses and too much perfume openly stared when he walked past. It wasn't that he was insanely attractive or anything, Kensi thought, he just radiated confidence. She gripped his arm protectively, flashing smug smiles at every woman with a twenty foot radius.

_Back off ladies, he's mine._

Callen was out on the radar as James Calhoun, Navy Captain, back stateside after three months in the Straight of Gilbrater. And Kensi was Monica Buckley, a Diamond Girl escort and Calhoun's concomitant to the Ball.

"I'll meet you at the bar," Kensi said quietly. "I'm going to scout around the bathroom."

Callen smirked.

"Have fun with that, sweetheart."

The bathroom was empty, save for a twenty-something Navy wife dabbing on enough lipgloss for Napoleon's army in front of the mirror. Kensi left hastily, glancing around the crowded ballroom for Callen. She was heading for the bar when someone tapped her shoulder.

"Excuse me, miss."

She wheeled around to see a middle-aged man standing behind her. He wasn't Navy, she knew at once. There was a stoop to his shoulders that wasn't found in military men, and something about his eyes seemed decidedly off.

"I was wondering if you'd like to get a drink with me."

Kensi plastered a smile onto her face. He could be a flirtatious creep, but he could also be their killer.

"Sure. The bar's over here."

He laughed quietly.

"I meant in my hotel room. It's just upstairs."

"Okay!" Kensi forced a cheery tone into her voice. She tried to appear as innocent and naive as possible. "That sounds good."

She could hear him following her up the flight of stairs, and it made her nervous. Kensi hated it when anyone walked behind her-she'd rather face an enemy head on than from the back.

"Turn left here," he commanded. The man sounded far more confident in the empty stairwell than he had down in the ballroom, and the forceful tone in his voice sent a chill down Kensi's spine. She wheeled around, ready to make a run for it, but she saw the flash of steel and froze.

"My room is just down the hall," he told her. Then the needle pierced her arm, and everything faded to black.


	5. Chapter 5

_**It's arrived! The final chapter of 'Undercover Lovers'. I hope that you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please keep a lookout for more of my Densi fics on the way. :) **_

Kensi woke up to the soft clink of silverware, the quiet hush of a ceiling fan. It smelled chemical, foreign. A hotel room slid into view. Kensi's head pounded and her throat was dry as a desert. Her senses returned to her slowly, and she realized that her ankles and wrists were bound to a straight-backed chair. She was seated at a small table, a man sitting across from her was slowly consuming what appeared to be a raw steak.

"Ah, you're finally awake."

_That bastard_, Kensi thought, anger surging through her.

"What the hell did you give me?" She demanded, struggling with her bonds. The man's hand found her knee beneath the table, calloused hands brushing up her thigh. She cringed away, repulsed.

"Don't touch me!" She snapped, and her voice came out shriller than she would have liked. Her captor seemed to enjoy it.

"You're feisty. I like that in a woman."

"Do you like them dead too?" Kensi sneered. "That way they can't say no."

A dark anger flashed across his face, and he stabbed his knife into the steak. Blood oozed out of the pink flesh and Kensi fought the urge to gag.

"Those whores deserved to die," he snarled. "Just like you."

Kensi couldn't keep a wry smile from siding onto her face.

"You've got it wrong. I'm not a prostitute."

He gave her a crocodile grin.

"I know. You're a cop, aren't you?" He gestured to a flute of champagne sitting in front of her. Her earpiece and tiny camera were sitting at the bottom, ruined. As Kensi assessed the situation-which looked grim, seeing as he had access to a steak knife and she couldn't move-a sharp chemical smell caught her attention.

"Is that...lye?"

The man tapped his knife against the side of his plate.

"Those other bodies...they were a warning. But you're just a liability now."

He rose and walked around the side of the table, pausing in front of Kensi. He tangled one hand in her hair and forced her head back. A wave of cold dread washed over her-she was going to die here, alone and afraid. And then this creep was going to dissolve her body and no one would ever find her.

_Callen. Sam. Eric. Nell. Hetty. Deeks. _Kensi's heart twisted as she thought of the friends who would eventually solve the case, find her body-or lack of thereof-and mourn her loss as another fallen agent.

_Please find me, _she prayed. Kensi felt the cold kiss of steel on her throat, and she knew that the end was nigh.

"I just can't abide by cops," the man told her, and there wasn't a trace of empathy in his voice. Kensi struggled to choke out a last sentence:

"Not...a...cop."

She felt the blade pause, and she looked up to the bright ceiling lights to see her captor's eyebrows raise.

"What the-"

"I'm a federal agent," she growled. And then the man was being whipped backwards with a bang and stomping feet approached Kensi. Through her drugged-out haze, she saw Deeks hovering over her.

"Oh God," he breathed, slicing through the ropes that bound her to the chair with a tactical knife. "Kens, are you okay?"

She took a few stumbled steps, knees weak, before her legs gave out and she collapsed into Deeks' arms. He held her up, then helped her to the bed.

"Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head.

"Drugs," she croaked. "He stuck me like a pig."

She could feel Deeks stroking the hair back from her forehead, a foreign but strangely pleasant sensation.

"It's okay, baby girl," he whispered. "Eric called an ambulance, they'll be here any minute."

Kensi could feel her strength fading. She reached up and grabbed Deeks' hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

"Thank you," she whispered. Then she passed out for the second time in two hours.

Three hours later, Kensi was sitting on Deeks' couch, the World Surfing Championships muted in the background. The cocktail of drugs that she had been given had worn off, but she still felt groggy.

"We ID'd the body as Richard Monroe, lives in San Diego. Apparently his parents divorced when he was thirteen, after his mother found out his father had been sleeping with hookers. His father was a Naval officer, explains why he targeted Navy guys up here."

Kensi sighed and shook her head. She felt better after swapping her revealing outfit for sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"So those girls died for nothing," she muttered. "Doesn't it bother you, not knowing?"

Deeks scooted closer to her, taking her hand in his.

"If we had gotten there a few seconds later, you wouldn't be sitting here."

Kensi brushed a hand across her throat, as if she could still feel the blade there.

"I know. Thanks for having my back, Deeks."

He smiled.

"I'll always have your back, Kens. That's what partner are for."

And then he kissed her, Kensi melted into his embrace, and she couldn't remember a time when she had felt safer or happier. Forget serial killers, criminals, the high-stakes world of espionage. In that moment, nothing else mattered.

_**So, did you like the ending? If you want a sequel/have an idea for another fic, please let me know in a review. Or just let me know how you liked this story. :) Thanks a million, guys!**_


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